


I think back to when

by cerebel



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Handcuffs, Modern AU, Recreational Drug Use, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerebel/pseuds/cerebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Sif calls Loki. It's not welcome, but it's not unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I think back to when

**Author's Note:**

> Loki/Sif and cunnilingus requested by fictionaladyfeels @ tumblr.
> 
> Warning for minor drug use (marijuana).

He steps out of the party -- abandoned house, crumbling brick, exposed drywall -- downs the last of his drink, and then takes a deep breath of the fresh air. Chicago in wintertime, cold enough to kill, and Loki savors it. Winter in Boston had always been his favorite time of year. 

As the heat of the hundreds of crammed-together bodies dissipates like steam from his skin, he pulls out a cigarette, lights it with one hand. His cellphone rings. Fishes it out of his pocket, and he recognizes the number, even though it’s labeled ‘unknown’. 

He accepts the call, touches the phone to his ear, and exhales a long breath of smoke.

“ _You should call Thor_ ,” says Sif. 

Loki rolls his eyes. 

“ _Loki? Are you there?_ ” 

“I’m here.” His voice is soft. 

“ _Call Thor._ ” 

“Why should I?” 

“ _Loki, he’s getting married._ ” 

A surge of irrational hatred, like those old videos Loki’s seen of sudden plumes of lava, erupting from the ground. He’s like that. His anger is kept in tightly-constrained tunnels in his heart, and then a few words create a fissure, and all of that is released.

“I’m not going.” 

He hangs up, and steps back into the party. He wouldn’t be able to feel a vibration or hear a ring in there. 

~*~

Six hours later, he slips on his clothes soundlessly, steals away from the man he met at the club, the man who he took advantage of. Stayed the night just so that he could have a bed. Fucked, just so that he could be warm. 

He wishes he didn’t have to lay low. Federal prison is in store for him, if he executes one of his plans while his name is on several watch lists. 

He steps outside of the apartment door, closes it as softly as he can with a sticky, warped door and a shitty, loose lock. He turns, to lean against the wall and slip his shoes on, and there she is. Sif. Handcuffs in hand. Detective’s badge pinned to her waist.

She tracked his phone. 

“Your brother wants you to be his best man,” she says. “God knows why.” 

“Are you here to arrest me?” asks Loki. One shoe on, then the other. He dusts off his hands and picks up his coat. 

“I haven’t decided.” 

“If he wants to speak with me so badly, why haven’t you given him my number?” 

Her eyes flash in warning. Loki gives her an airy shrug, and slips past. 

He honestly isn’t expecting her to attack, which is why it’s such a surprise when she lands him on the floor, hand between his shoulderblades, arm twisted behind his back. He curses, softly, in the French that he learned when he was just a little boy sent too far away from home. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know anything about respecting someone else’s wishes.” 

The handcuffs go on. Loki sighs. 

“Is this arrest or kidnapping?” 

“Kidnapping.” 

She hauls him to his feet. “It’s a sixteen hour drive,” she tells him. “We’ll stop in New York.” 

He doesn’t fight. Wishes he could savor the worry that this knits in her brow, but he’s too tired for such things.

~*~

It’s been five years since he’s been to Boston. And that wasn’t a good time, near the end. His boldest memory, though, is jumping off the Rainbow Bridge. Reflected flicker-blue and flicker-red police car lights, two sets of news media cameras, and his phone lighting up with call after call. 

Falling was one moment of blissful freedom. 

~*~

She cuffs him to the inside of the car, and he gathers up one of her old sweatshirts from beneath his feet, awkwardly, and braces it under his cheek, making a pillow. It smells of her. Brings back long memories. He closes his eyes.

“I can’t hold a gun to your head and force you to be his best man,” says Sif, “but I can get you in a room with him for ten minutes.” 

“Ten minutes,” he murmurs. “Somewhat ambitious, if you’d like both of us to come out alive.” 

“It was your parents that lied to you,” says Sif, sharply, “and you’ve more than paid them back. It’s time you forgive Thor.” 

“You can’t rush forgiveness.” 

“I don’t know if you’re even capable of forgiveness. Or just capable of taking advantage of it.” 

A vicious-sounding snort, from Loki. 

“Thor deserves nothing of what you’ve given him,” she says. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat.” 

“So he’s not marrying you, then?” Loki asks. 

He sees a tinge of red on Sif’s cheeks. 

“No,” she says.

“Funny,” murmurs Loki. “Somehow, I always thought he would.”

“The last time we promised that, we were children,” she says. “A lot’s changed.” 

“Yes. It has.”

And there, the flush grows deeper. Because he’s tricked her around into the elephant in the room, again. Thor isn’t his brother. Thor never was. 

“Her name is Jane,” says Sif. 

Loki says nothing, but his fingernails dig into his palm. 

“And I’ll thank you not to sabotage the most wonderful day of her life.” 

“If she’s stupid to chain herself to a lout like Thor, I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Which, of course, doesn’t even touch on Loki’s jealous, possessive side. 

Sif snorts. “At least try not to make it too terrible.” 

“And what will you give me in return?” 

“Maybe I won’t arrest you next time.” 

“Next time someone in the Odinson family has a wedding?” 

“Next time... just next time.” 

There’s a long silence, and then Loki says, “I’m glad you didn’t.” 

Sif has to reconstruct the conversation in her head. Glad she didn’t marry Thor, she guesses. “Why?” she asks. 

“You don’t deserve someone like him.” 

She takes it as a compliment, and bites her tongue, as far as the insult to Thor goes.

~*~

A year before the Rainbow Bridge, Odin told Loki in no uncertain terms that, from now on, he would pick Loki’s classes, and review Loki’s grades in every semester of university. 

Loki argued.

Odin won, as he always did. 

~*~

She takes a hotel room somewhere about an hour past Cleveland, exhausted from the effort of both driving and maintaining a shield against Loki’s sullen silences. She dumps him on one of the beds, fixing a cuff to the frame, and goes in to clean up. 

“Am I allowed a shower?” he calls after her.

“No,” she snaps. 

When she returns, she sees a flicker of flame, watches him inhale. That bastard. She searched him! Where, exactly, was he hiding cigarettes? 

She snatches it away. “Filthy habit,” she says. Falls next to him, on the bed. 

A beat.

“Got any pot?” 

He shoots her a disbelieving look. “Such an obedient police detective you are,” he says. “Such respect for the law.” 

“Firing me would be the kindest thing they could do, now.” 

He pauses, mid-pulling out the little half-sandwich bag with a tiny line of pot in it. Maybe he stole it from someone. Maybe that makes it taste better for a person like him. 

“I’m under investigation,” she tells him. “The theory is that I warned you about the Sixth Street bust.”

Loki rolls his eyes. It annoys him when the police underestimate him. He’s not so stupid that he missed all the signs. He figured that out on his own. 

He hands her the pot, and she gets to work rolling up a joint. Five minutes later, she’s holding the joint to his lips, and she feels a little bit of a buzz already. Her thumb brushes over his lower lip. 

He holds his breath. 

She eases forward, and when he exhales, she inhales. 

Would have been perfect, except he coughed.

Now, her turn to roll her eyes. She sits back, next to him, and takes the next two draws herself, without offering him any.

“I’m sure Thor doesn’t want a best man with bruised wrists,” says Loki, after she offers it to him again. 

“I’m not letting you go.” 

“ _Sif._ ” 

She casts her eyes to him. His jaw is clenched tight. 

Damn it. 

She leans over and unlocks the cuff. 

“Promise me,” she says. “Promise me you won’t run away, the middle of the night.” 

He is silent. 

“I _will_ cuff you again.” 

He nods, once. 

“Say it.” 

“I promise.” 

She hands him the joint. 

“How long did he think I was dead?” asks Loki, eventually.

“Three years.” 

“Until you tracked the phone.” 

“Yeah.” 

Her arm brushes his.

“A lot of people use the Rainbow Bridge for suicide jumps,” she says. “They usually don’t make it.” Her glance is curious.

He doesn’t justify it with an answer. 

“You know this won’t help your reputation,” he says. “If your bosses find out.” 

“Your family’s more important.” 

“They’re not royalty, they’re not -- you don’t have to be so loyal.” 

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t have had a life at all if it wasn’t for your mother,” she tells him. “I think a little loyalty comes with the package.” 

His fingers touch her hair. Tease and brush the little loose strands, and then his lips are pressed against hers. It isn’t unexpected. It’s not unwelcome, either. His lips part, welcome her tongue against his. And then he darts forward, straddling her, stubbing out the joint. His kisses are hungry. A ravenous desperation that she understands. She _understands_ , she knows, she feels it all the time but buries it deep, just like he does. 

Her hand tightens in his hair and she yanks him back. Hiss of pain between his teeth, but he knows what she wants. Undoes her jeans, obediently, and helps her slide them free. One of her thighs onto his shoulder, and his tongue presses against her cunt. She’s never met anyone with a tongue like him. Never met anyone as willing to go down on her. 

She drags him up, a fraction. His lips press against her clit, and he worries at it, taking the nub into his mouth and sucking on it, sliding his tongue back along her vulva in long licks. She finds herself shuddering, bearing down on him. He makes soft noises into her, and she can _feel_ them, and it isn’t long before she comes with one heel digging into his back and the other onto the bed. 

He pants into her thigh, breathless and half-wrecked. 

She nudges him over, onto his back, and presses a thigh against his cock. She’s already thinking about where they could go from here -- she thinks she could fuck him until he’s exhausted, she could cuff him down again and ride him until he thrashes and pleads. She’s done all of those things. He’s the only one who’s ever let her do all of those things. 

But he twists against her and yelps, and she realizes that just that pressure, just her touch was enough to push him over the edge. He shivers, and she slides her hand under his waistband, and she feels the wet of his semen. Gathers the white on her fingertips and presses it to his lips, until he licks it away. 

“I’m sorry.” He is tense with humiliation. Barely a day since he’s fucked someone, and he’s _this_ desperate --

“You asked about a shower,” she says. And nods to the bathroom. 

~*~

Ten minutes later, her back pressed against steam-warmed, slick tile. He has pressed inside her, fucking her with the long, intent strokes that she likes so much. 

“Come on, Loki,” she breathes, and in the kiss, she tastes herself still on his tongue.

~*~

In the morning, he’s gone.

At first, she curses, bangs drawers, stomps around the room. And then she realizes that both the room keys are gone, and that Loki’s cell phone is still here.

It’s enough to make her hope.

So she waits. 

Eventually the door opens, casts bright sunlight over her skin.


End file.
